Chapter 34 The Library and The Journals
The gravel road had smoothed out into paved asphalt, and the familiar sights of the Blackwood territory began to appear.
They were only about ten minutes from the main house when Fennigan suddenly slowed down and pulled the Mountain Climber onto the wide, grassy shoulder.
He put the truck in park and killed the engine. The sudden silence was jarring after hours of roaring machinery.
He turned in his seat to face her, reaching out to take her hand. He squeezed it tight, his thumb brushing over her knuckles
.
"Hey," he said softy, seeing the tension creeping back into her shoulders as they got closer to reality. "We'll figure this all out."He looked at the spot on her chest where the stone hummed beneath her shirt.
"Right now, we just ride the storm out. Just like we did in the Grove."
Leela nodded, taking a deep breath. "I know. It's just... how do we explain this? I absorbed an heirloom. I literally fused with it."
"Mom will help us figure this out," Fennigan assured her. "She knows more about the old magic than anyone. And if she doesn't know..."
He gestured vaguely toward the direction of the house.
"There is a big library at the house. It’s restricted, mostly, but it has the personal journals from all the Pack leaders from the past. Going back generations."
His eyes lit up with a spark of determination.
"Maybe there is something in them about my Great Grandmother. We know the necklace was hers, but we don't know what it really was. Or why it reacted to you like that."
He reached out and gently touched the collar of her shirt, not exposing the stone, but acknowledging its presence.
"Though," he said, his voice low and full of wonder, "I'm assuming since her necklace is now a part of you... there is more to you than meets the eye, Leela."
Leela looked down at her hands. "I'm just a girl from a loveless home, Fennigan."
"No," Fennigan shook his head. "You're a girl who silenced a chaos storm and turned iron into gold. You're something else."
He started the engine back up, the beast coming to life with a growl.
"And we're going to find out exactly what."
Ten minutes later, they pulled up to the large, separate garage building. The door rolled up as they approached, and Fennigan drove the muddy, battered Mountain Climber inside, parking it next to the sleek, clean SUVs.
Elana was standing there waiting for them.
She looked small standing next to the giant vehicles, but her presence filled the room. She was wearing a simple sweater and jeans, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression a mix of relief and intense curiosity.
Fennigan cut the engine and opened his door. He hopped down, then reached up to help Leela.
As soon as Leela’s feet hit the concrete, Elana stepped forward. She didn't hug them immediately. She stopped a few feet away, her head tilting to the side.
Her eyes—sharp and intelligent—locked instantly onto Leela’s chest.
"Fennigan," Elana said, her voice calm but laced with surprise. "Where is the necklace?"
Fennigan walked up to his mother, placing a hand on her shoulder, but he gestured to Leela.
That's what we need to talk about," he said. "It's not... on her anymore."
Leela stepped forward nervously. She reached up and pulled the collar of her shirt aside.
The emerald and moonstone gem, embedded seamlessly into her skin, pulsed with a soft, green light. The white star-flower tattoos on her collarbone seemed to shimmer in the garage lighting.
Elana’s eyes went wide. She took a sharp breath, her hand flying to her mouth.
"By the Goddess," she whispered, stepping closer to inspect the mark without touching it. "It didn't just suppress the flare. It bonded."
She looked up at Leela, her gaze searching.
"How do you feel?"
"I feel... good," Leela admitted. "Strong. Clear."
Elana looked at Fennigan, then back at the stone.
"I haven't seen anything like this written down," she murmured. "But I recall a story my grandmother used to tell me about her grandmother. About the woman who made the necklace."
She looked at Fennigan.
"Get the bags," she commanded gently, already turning toward the door that led to the house. "We need to go to the library. Now."
Elana led them through the main house, bypassing the living areas and heading straight for a heavy set of double doors at the end of the east wing.
She pushed them open, and a wall of scent hit them instantly.
The smell of old books—dry parchment, binding glue, and dust—mixed with the rich, heavy aroma of worn leather seats assaulted the nose. It was the smell of history, concentrated and preservedor anything that would explain why this happened